Page 15 of The Villain's Fatal Plot
Setting the ledger aside to study later, she opened a drawer full of correspondence. Miss Edgerton had taught at a girl’s boarding school before becoming a governess. It appeared she’d kept up with many of her former students, as she had Verity.
Scanning the letters quickly, her eyes widened, and she started at the beginning to read the veiled inquiries and laments more deliberately. The letters were mostly signed with common names—Mary, Penny—girlhood names a teacher might recognize. But these were no longer girls. They were women asking for help with adult problems—abusive husbands, unwanted pregnancies...
Oh, my. This could represent a whole drawer full of men who might want to kill Miss Edgerton.
Outside, the wolfhound barked a vigorous warning.
TEN: RAFE
At the dog’s bark,Rafe crossed the parlor where the widow sat at the desk. All the color had drained from her normally rosy cheeks. What had she found in there? Was it any of his business?
“The gate is locked,” he explained, opening the door. “Visitors can’t knock. Wolfie is letting us know we have a caller.”
She nodded and shoved a letter into a drawer as if it might bite.
He trotted into the yard to investigate the intruder, snapping his fingers at Wolfie to stop his barking, while he studied the tall young woman at the half-gate. He recognized her cheerful demeanor from the church this morning but didn’t remember being introduced.
Behind her waited a stout older woman who glared at him in disapproval. Perfect. A gorgon to scare off the unwanted.
“You’re the curate’s sister, aren’t you?” Rafe opened the gate. “Sorry, I don’t know if I learned the name. I’m Rafe Russell.”
“Patience Lavigne, sir, pleased to meet you. I’m Paul’s sister and Henri’s wife. I believe the two of you discussed fine ales.” She stepped into the garden and exclaimed in delight. “Oh, look, the Lenten rose is already sending up shoots! Miss Edgerton had quite a gift.”
He assumed she was talking of flowers, a subject which didn’t particularly interest him unless he could eat the results. “Will you come in?” He glanced inquiringly at the disapproving female edging past him warily.
“Oh, my apologies. This is Mrs. Wilhemina Underhill. Minerva said Mrs. Porter needs a maid and companion. Mrs. Underhill said she might be interested.”
The stout lady bobbed a brief curtsy but didn’t acknowledge him otherwise.
Rafe opened the cottage door and made the introductions to Mrs. Porter. One of these days, he’d learn her first name. The widow appeared uncertain how to react but gestured at the sofas.
“Have a seat, ladies. I’ll return with fresh tea.” An innkeeper had to know how to make guests comfortable. Might as well get in some practice, just in case.
“I can’t live in a house of sin,” he heard the old lady state firmly as he prepared the tea. She must be slightly deaf and spoke loudly, or she intended him to hear.
“I’m without family,” Mrs. Porter was saying as he carried in the tray. “Miss Edgerton offered to be my companion. Her untimely death has left me bereft.”
Rafe thought she winked at him as he set the tray down. He lingered, arranging napkins and cups, to see if she meant to be audacious. The widow might be quiet, but she hadn’t struck him as shy.
“There’s some said as she was a witch, but I don’t take to that ungodly talk.” Mrs. Underhill glared at him. “But men, now, they’re nothing but trouble.”
“Mr. Russell is Wycliffe Manor’s new bailiff,” the very blond, buxom Mrs. Lavigne said excitedly. She appeared to be the kind of cheerful female who found everything exciting. “He is guarding Mrs. Porter in case the thief returns.”
“He also provides the most delicious meals,” Mrs. Porter said demurely. “I do not cook.”
Ah, the lady didn’t do audacious, exactly. She’d simply toldthe old gorgon she’d starve unless he stayed or she cooked. Checkmate.
He returned to the kitchen to finish supper. A companion would put a crimp in his plans to seduce the widow, but she needed to trust him.
If he was to be a proper bailiff, he should catch a killer first. He’d need to know a lot more about the village. Old Mrs. Underhill looked like a fine source of information. He wondered if she liked a good glass of stout with her meals.
He was setting the lamb pie over the fire when Mrs. Porter and her new maid climbed the stairs to the attic. The pub owner’s comely wife stayed behind to speak with him.
“Henri says you know how to operate an inn. That is exciting. We need traveling salesmen for the button factory, and eventually, for the perfumery. And Lavender is eager to test her sewing skills on ladies willing to journey here.” Her usual smile faded. “I cannot imagine who would travel for a modiste.”
“If she becomes very famous or if she’s very good and known to be less expensive than city modistes, women will find her.” He sorted through the ingredients on the table to begin the apple cake he’d promised. “I don’t suppose I can bribe you with pastry to tell me all the town gossip so I know where to look for malefactors?”
She laughed. “Lady Elsa’s pastry is pure heaven, and I eat far too much of it. Now, if you can start a brewery, as Henri claims, he may tell you allheknows, which is much more than I do.”
